Bruised and Hurt
by KatharineTheShrew
Summary: When Jarod is captured by the Centre and Miss Parker has become the new object of exploitation for Raines and Lyle, terrible things happen in order to create a new Pretender. Set post IOTH
1. Chapter 1

**Bruised and Hurt**

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_Author's Note: The show and the characters aren't mine, so please don't sue, but what would you get anyway. I'm rating this M so anyone who reads this is to blame him/herself. It doesn't get more graphic than in other stories, though, so please enjoy._

Mr. Raines gestured the nameless sweeper towards her. The big man obeyed and hit her right across the face, twice, with more force necessary to just _impress_ her. Only seconds after, blood began to trickle, flow, from her lips that were pressed together in pain, both upper and lower.

Everybody in the room seemed to be waiting for the red liquid to apear on her skin and move – slowly, faster then – towards her chin and drop to the floor just after the soft rounding of her face. A sign of what two of them could only suppose was to follow.

Jarod had noticed right after he had been pushed into his old centre "appartment" that this assembly of centre staff was not the usual procedure. From the very time that Miss Parker had, unknowingly, led the centre to his present lair, he had painfully been confronted with the unnaturally high capacites of his own brain, telling him, ceaselessly, that this time there would be a change to the ever-lasting running-chasing-catching-breaking-out-routine.

For too long, maybe, he had played around with the centre, had made his importance to them more than obvious over the last six years.

Again, Raines, even more confident and self-sufficient than usual, due to the army of armed goons at the door, gave the sweeper a brief sign. Again, he slapped her, harder maybe than before. Still, it didn't seem to affect her to a degree that had been intended.

Indeed, what was troubling Miss Parker much more was her own neglectiveness, which had let them both, Jarod and her, into captivity. Hers, not quite sure, for she didn't understand what was happening, maybe refused to connect the signs. His, certain.

He had called her. More out of curiousity, maybe even interest, she had tricked, sweet-talked him to give her a clue as to his whereabouts, had tricked herself and him, had sweet-talked their way into the centre. Only seconds after he had stopped listening to the sounds of a suddenly disconnected call, a team of big armed men had closed in on him, had left him chanceless. But what was she doing here, he wondered. What was being done to her, he feared.

On cue, the big sweeper moved towards her a third time, this time closer than the mere length of an arm. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her towards Jarod's old bed at the far end of the room. Pressing against her, he carelessly and controllingly started to undo the bottons of her shirt. Not until this point, at least Jarod seemed to realize what kind of treatment the centre's variety of sick minds had come up with.

He had called her, as usual, he had given her a clue, like always. And some time later, unexpectedly, the news of Jarod's capture hat hit her in the face. No time to think how ironic it all was.

Later, a smugly smiling Lyle backed up by a team of horrid looking sweepers had called on his twin sister. Here she was.

Quickly now, the sweeper pinned her arms against the wall and with his free hand took turns unhooking her bra, slapping her across the face, taking off her skirt and slip, hiting her head against the wall and eventually unzipping his own pants.

She didn't scream. Jarod screamed for her, instead of her, at her. There was no point in fighting back, they could both see that, though.

Jarod's hands were cuffed to the wall in a most uncomfortable manner. Jerking his head, he could see Lyle and Raines, a uniting smile on their faces. In horror, he watched, tried to move. Attempting any of this, however, a gun was pressed to his head and the sweeper signed to cause – once more – Miss Parker's face to be stained with blood.

She had known from the start that she didn't have a chance of fighting the big man. With her arms pinnned onto the table and his whole weight lying upon her, she could but let it happen.

Faster and even faster, he started thrusting into her, leaving behind only the pain and an unexplainable numbness to occupy every single part of her body.

Silent tears escaped her burning eyes.

He was done soon. She didn't realize when. From the time he had started to thrust into her, she hadn't really realized anything anymore.

In her watery vision she had only perceived Jarod who had seemingly been forced to watch. She hated him staring at her in her moments of utmost pain and humiliation.

Indeed, the pretender had been forced at gunpoint to keep his eyes on what was happening.

When the sweeper stepped back, he could see her lying on his bed, fragile, hurt, crying silently. Be stared at by her ever-smiling blood-relations.

Jarod couldn't think. He couldn't believe the centre would hurt her in order to demoralize his spirits, in order to torment him.

Lyle stepped forward and with a snap ordered the sweeper to join his colleagues at the door. He reached into his pocket and took out his gun. He turned around and stared at the pretender, aiming.

"You know, labrat: I think my sister always liked you. So – in my endless brotherly affection – I thought: why not let her have you, little wonder boy? I'm sure you can also do some magic trick with her."

And with that, he turned again and aimed his gun at his sister, adding:

"Just in case she changed her mind."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Bruised and Hurt**

_Author's Note: The show and the characters aren't mien, so please don't sue. I'm rating this M so anyone who reads this is responsible him/herself. It doesn't get more graphic than other stories, so don't worry;) _

_English is not my native language, so please excuse mistakes. Enjoy ;)_

Slowly and with desperate hesitation, Jarod moved towards the silently crying bundle on the bed. Passed Lyle who was still aiming at her. Being a pretender he knew that there was no way of escaping, not even making the attempt to escape without killing her.

Wanting to die himself after what he had witnessed, he could not decide which harm would be worse for her: death or what he was about to have to do to her.

He hated that those people knew him well enough to know that he would never let her die. Again, he was the one to blame, for never conceiling his affection for her, especially not lately.

"You know the business.", Lyle mentioned smugly and indeed Jarod did.

He stepped in front of Parker who seemed half-unconscious and in shock. He wanted to hold her, take her up in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright, that she wouldn't have to be scared of him. He wasn't allowed to do that.

She was a fighter, always had been. With all her remaining strength and last desperate rage, she would fight him. And he would have to fight her, for her not to lose. Would she ever understand how ironic the situation was? Would she ever _live_ to understand it?

She didn't care anymore about the gun being pointed at her, would have wished it all to end for the pain and shame she felt. But she was unable to think of something, much less do something that would make her brother pull the trigger. She started realizing that this wasn't about her. She was even despised enough in order not to be relieved from the everlasting horrors of what had been done to her. She didn't understand, didn't care.

Through her half-closed eyes, she saw Jarod stepping in front of her. He had watched it all, hadn't done anything to safe her. She didn't have much power left to hate him, but at that moment, he was worse than Raines, worse than Lyle, worse than whoever had broken her.

He unzipped his pants and let them fall down. Slowly, he bent over her and softly took her thin arms into his strong hands. With his face he was now close to her bruised one.

She felt him come near to her, felt the growing fear of yet another time that she would be broken by a man, by him. She tried to fight his strong hands on her, but without success. His warm weight rested upon her naked flesh and she was too weak, even in her deathly desperation to push him away. She let out a scream which came out a helpless cry. She was so vulnerable.

With his mouth almost touching her ear, he whispered:

"Please, Miss Parker, let me do it and don't fight back. They'll kill you, they'll hurt you worse than you can ever imagine! I'll try not to hurt you, Parker, but you have to let me do it!"

Now, they were both crying. And she was fighting, fighting him, fighting herself.

An artificial laugh from his left side, where Lyle was still aiming at her brought him back to reality.

"Seems like that little bitch is too good to do it with you, huh? I hope that's not giving your ego too much of a blow, ratboy. But I guess you know my tactic: If a woman doesn't want…you just gotta help her a bit with the decision."

The smug smile and friendly tone vanished at once and he added: "Hurt her. Otherwise I'm gonna do it. It's not _her_ we need, you know."

Slowly, he stroked his sisters bruised face. And as if he wanted to confirm what he just said, now pressed the gun to her temple.

Jarod could only suppose how cruel his behaviour must have seemed to Miss Parker who probably wasn't understanding anything of what was going on, who was too weak to realize that he was hurting himself just as much as her in order to save her life.

He looked at his hand, then away and hit Miss Parker's face with a quick yet hesitating movement. He could see the pain in her face: Her eyelids were closed, she was biting her lip not to let out a scream.

"Again.", Lyle demanded. "Harder."

He was in trance now, not able anymore to control himself to control the endless rage he felt towards himself for his stupidity, towards the centre for their sick ideas and cruelty and towards Miss Parker. Why wouldn't she just let him do it in order to save herself.

As ordered, he hit her again, harder, but with less reaction from her part. She seemed unconscious now.

Once more, he bent over the shivering form and gently took her small arms. He brought his head near hers on the bed and put his lips near her ear just where her beautiful dark hair started. Slowly, he slid into her body.

She seemed unconscious, but Jarod could tell that she wasn't. With her hands, she gripped his arms in pain, let out small cries that killed him on the inside. He only knew that he wasn't allowed to stop.

Again and again, he slid in and out of her. Wanting to be careful and according to Lyle's orders "faster" at the same time. He had never imagined it like this. He had never imagined him to ever cause her any pain when they were making love, not fucking as they were doing now.

He hated himself because he liked it. Becaue he liked seeing her naked and weak before him and because he was allowed to touch her and comfort her with his whispering.

"It's gonna be over soon, Miss Parker…I'm so sorry. I just don't want to lose you, Parker, please you gotta believe me…I won't ever hurt you again. Please stay with me…Parker, please!"

Towards his climax, he removed on hand from her numb arm and held her bruised head against his shoulder.

The second Lyle told him to stop, he slid out of her, still holding her to him. She was unconscious by now, shivering, numb and bleeding. Still naked.

"Well, let's see who's next", Lyle said with the most cruel and cynic smile on his lips.

Please do give me some feedback! I'd love to hear what you think of the story!


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey, folks! I really wanna thank you for all that feedback! It really keeps me going! Hope you enjoy the next part of the story and review!_

_Keep it real ;)_

She was still lying there, when he opened his eyes. Defeated and quite like never before.

Blood covered her body and contrasted the white of her fragile skin. What scared him most was the fact that she didn't try to fight back, didn't scream. Because it was unlike the self that he knew she would never be again.

And he was the one to blame. Because he had found pleasure in being in control over her completely, for the first time of both their lives.

Still, Lyle and Raines were standing calm, cahtting like watching their own blood-relative being raped and hurt was business as usual. Then again, it proably was.

He guessed that the sweepers had sensed his rage which that very second threatened to flood his brain and had heldhim back from jumping at the two men. Where had his skills of disguise and self-control gone.

He couldn't help staring at the motionsless body. He was pushed on the floor.

"Fix her up, wonderboy, will ya?", Lyle said with a content smile, walking out and locking the door behind him.

Minutes passed before he could even begin to grasp what had occurred only moments before. He knew that he had to switch back into pretending mode for him to bear it and for her to survive.

But he didn't know her…At least it didn't seem to him that he had ever known her.

Slowly he got on his feet. Regaining strength, he walked to the side of his old bed and gathered her up in his arms. Blood stained his already guilty hands and he could feel her shift uncomfortably in her unconsciousness.

Carefully, he put her on the empty table. He hated that the surveillance cameras would catch her like this.

Slipping back into his working mode, he knew that he had to take care of her inner bleedings.

Heknew he'd have to hurt her. Once again.

Would it feel just as good and pleasing in a terrible way, he wondere, as when he was thrusting in and out of her body, not an hour ago.

He felt an inexplicable urge to see hiw own blood…mixed with hers, poured from his body with pain, with pain like hers.

Jarod tied her hands and feet to the table, so she wouldn't be able to move. He forced half a bottle of vodka from his untouched "minibar" into her unwilling mouth; used the rest of the vodka to disinfect her wounds. He stitched her wounds with what he fuond in the first aid kit of his old apartment. Used the same soft whisperings to sooth her as he had used when he was fucking her.

Jardod could feel her waking up, stirring, breathing faster with the pain.

He didn't want her to wake up like this. Tied to the table. Naked.

He started thinking that it might be better if she wouldn't wake up at all.

Confused, he looked at her bruised face and body, still naked. He looked around for something for her to wear, the clothes she had worn so little time before as if he could make undone what had happened.

All he found in his old closet was the old orange overalls he had had to wear when he had been a prisoner. Just like he was now.

She had started to shiver and, with care, he dressed her in his old orange pants and shirt, hardly fitting her slim body.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper.

Wearily, Miss Parker opened her bruised eyes.

_Pleeeeeease, give me some feedback, alright? O:o)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys! Sorry that it took me so long to update! This is only a short chapter, too...I just moved from Germany to London to study law and so my life's pretty busy at the moment...Thanks, though, for all the reviews! That really motivated me to go on with the story! I need to say that this chapter is kinda really dark, but I guess some of you are into that as well, otherwise you wouldn't read the story in the first place ;) Just for my defence, I'm not as mentally disturbed as may appear from my writing ;)_

_Please enjoy and review!_

She looked around, saw the well-known Centre room, reckognized the man she had been chasing for the better part of her life, remembered. She was shivering, feeling her complete lower body throb with pain. She was lying on the cold table, with him standing besides her.

The pain was hardly bearable. The only reason that didn't make her cry out loud was the fact that it was choking her.

She couldn't bear him close, had not yet allowed to go back in her memories far enough to realize what had happened. Yet she knew.

He could see the realization in her eyes forming only seconds after she had woken up from her state of unconsciousness. He didn't know what to do, couldn't accept that there was nothing to be done. He didn't dare to move.

Slowly, painfully, she got on her weary feet, who - Jarod feared - wouldn't support her. She seemed like a ghost, pale, fragile, unpredictable and aimless.

Except for the pain that started to fill her, almost pleasingly, she felt numb. She didn't know where she was going, like someone else was carrying her bare feet over the cold, grey floor towards the little bathroom she knew was behind the heavy curtain.

She passed without raising her gaze to meet his. He wanted to grab her and make her look into his face, make her hear his explanations, his rational explanations for what he had done to her. He felt an increasing sentiment of alienation invade his mind and body. The feeling of having lost his freedom forever, the realization that for the first time in his life he had brought immeasurable guilt upon himself.

She didn't care that the water was burning her skin when she heaved her weak body into the tub. She didn't bother to remove her clothes. She felt so dirty that she couldn't stand it.

Jarod could feel her presence behind the curtain, could hear her get into the tub and the silcence that followed. He imagined the cold and blank expression on her face that had hit him just moments ago. He didn't dare to direct his mind to what she was thinking. He was too afraid of what it would reveal about himself. Still, he couldn't help it; he knew what she would do.

It seemed to be the natural consequence out of her very situation. When the throbbing pain in her lower body had given way to the healing effect of the vodka combined with the pain killers, it hadn't felt right anymore. As if the natural balance between her mental and physical sensations would have to be restored. With the decreasing pain coming from her injuries, she was afraid of the thoughts and memories that would start invading her now no longer paralyzed mind.

He could foresee her every step, could see her as if he was right there with her. He was still standing at the same spot as when she had opened her eyes for the first time. He didn't need to physically see her, he could feel her presence behind the heavy curtain.

Maybe, it was the new-found guilt that paralyzed him, that made him unable to move and prevent further harm from happening to her. Maybe he wanted to punish himself, by letting her do what she thought was what she deserved.

She took one of his old razor-blades, still wrapped in old 90s paper, still sharp enough, though, for her to use. Testing it, she slowly, but forcefully ran her thumb over the silvery shining material, contrasting it with the red of her blood.

It was strange, how suddenly the images in his head seemed to scream for more, for confirmation of what they were making him believe. He needed to see her do it, maybe not only out of fear for her, maybe even out of a deep down desire to take part in what seemed her ritual cope with her life. At least she'd found a way, he thought.

The first cut came with hesitation, causing the second one to be of even greater force than intended. The first drop of blood flowing down her white arm felt like a release of what had been dying to get out of her. She liked to see it flow, slowly faster then, down her arm and mix with the cold water around her. It was her own blood, shed out of her own will and labour. It felt good to see that she could control her body, just like they had controlled it who knew how many hours ago.

Slowly, he approached the curtain, feeling drawn to it, to her, in a most inappropriate way. He wouldn't dare to stop her, he knew that much. He just wanted to take part, for once, in her feelings as she showed as much of them as she could, to take part in her sufferings and thereby be that part of her life, he had always wanted to be.

He knew that she wouldn't notice him now. She was too preoccupied with what she had to do in order to move on. It hurt him to see her and at the same time he felt reassured in his desire to belong to her life, to be part of her.

She caused the blade to leave more and more deep red wounds on her delicate white skin. Her threatening numbness was replaced by a feeling of _pleasing_ numbness, filling her, once again, and driving away all thoughts. She didn't stop before the flow of red liquid made her head spin and her hands shake with weakness.

She dropped the blade and slowly, wearily looked up: For the first time after he had come within her, their eyes met.

_Please, review! It takes about 1 minute of your time to write a quick statement even if you didn't like the story and any feedback would make me very happy (and may even motivate me to update soon...;) )_


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